Daemons of London Boxset (Books 1-3) The Bleeders, The Human Herders, The Purebloods

by Michaela Haze

  “You started the War, Pureblood. Pray tell, why can’t we defend ourselves against this terrorism?” Samuel Rose asked fervently.

  “If the Witchlings want the Scratcher back, I suggest that we give her back,” Edward said.

  Before I was conscious of what I was doing, I found that I had Laced across the room. My hands had curled to form sharp nailed claws. My teeth were bared in a snarl. I was prepared to leap on Edward Cross; I was feral, and I had wanted to tear his throat out myself.

  I blinked as if waking up from a dream. Edward had fallen backwards with a smack onto the cool marble floor. I wrenched myself back and stalked back to Henry. His expression gave nothing away, but I sensed his surprise. I looked at Trix, and she nodded and walked towards the exit. I followed.

  Together we left the daemon politics in the hands of the daemons.

  18.

  Trix had holed herself away in her room, sick and tired. I was unable to provide comfort; I felt useless. I compared my relationship with Trix to the one I had had with my biological sister. I was never good enough. Never supportive when needed. I had failed her, time and time again.

  My older sister, Melanie. She was studious to my rebellious. The enthusiastic to my apathetic. Melanie was sunshine and light. I was hard edges and scribbled lines.

  I couldn’t begin to imagine the relationship between Trix and Katya. What had caused such strain to lead to warfare between two species?

  I rubbed my forehead, trying to alleviate the phantom pressure behind my brows. As I sat on the end of the bed in my suite, I stared off into space. Lost.

  “I wondered where you got to.” Henry closed the door behind him.

  I barely acknowledged him but stretched out my spine to appear at ease. “I thought about breaking out the Vodka, but being a daemon means that I’ll need to find a new crutch.”

  Henry nodded thoughtfully. “You didn’t…drink to excess when I was gone? The first time?”

  “I was a Bleeder, Henry.” I sighed. “I did plenty of things that I am not proud of.” It was the closest I had ever come to snapping at him.

  He leant against the closed door and tucked his ankle behind his long leg. “What’s wrong?”

  I fell back onto the plush duvet with a loosed breath. “Trix is getting worse and... it’s all my fault.” I whispered.

  “Her use of magic is her own choice.” Henry interrupted softly. He walked over to my side. I sat up, and he rested his hand on the small of my back. I tried to offer a small smile. Failing that, I tried to find the words to describe how I felt.

  I was almost as bad as Sarah-Belle; taking someone else's pain, and making it all about me.

  “You are worried that you will lose another sister.” Henry realised.

  I didn’t meet his eyes. “There is nothing I can do.”

  Henry wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me closer. I placed my head on his shoulder, enveloped in his comforting scent of sandalwood and menthol.

  “You are still thinking like a human,” Henry noted. He traced the line of my jaw with his finger, my skin tingled. “You need to acknowledge that you are strong.”

  “I am the weakest person I know.” I murmured. “And when you realise that, you’ll leave.”

  “Is that what you fear?” He whispered.

  “You’ve left me before. You’ll leave me again.”

  “Sophia, look at me.” He said, but I refused to meet his Celestine blue eyes. Worried at what I would find there.

  “Please?” Henry begged.

  His finger tilted my chin until our faces were level. There was so much that I wanted to say but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t expose any more of my bitter and twisted insanity.

  “Lillian was an obstacle. One that we have overcome.” The pad of Henry’s thumb traced my bottom lip.

  “But what about Asmodeus?” I asked. “How can you want a woman that dissolves into a Demon Queen at night?”

  “We’ll figure it out.” He was adamant.

  “What about the Witchlings killing the Bleeders? I can’t—”

  Henry interrupted my verbal diarrhoea with a firm kiss. My voice was swallowed by his lips, and my eyes widened in surprise. He smirked against my mouth and deepened his attack on my lips.

  With a sigh, I closed my eyes and leant in. I could feel his essence, teasing every inch of my skin like a feather. My toes curled, and the promise of his touch made my thighs rub together. Henry’s hand was on the small of my back, pressing me into his hard chest. I let my fingers tangle in his hair, feeling the silky texture of his mahogany locks.

  His kiss was sinful. Exciting. His tongue traced my top lip, seeking an invite inside. I pulled him closer. Lost in his touch.

  Henry Blaire broke the kiss for a second; his hands went to the front of his white shirt, and he tackled the first button. Out of patience, I gripped the lapels of his shirt and tugged until the buttons popped and scattered around the room. The fabric ripped as I pulled it from his shoulders in urgency. My hand teased the waistband of his trousers as our kiss continued.

  I swallowed his low groan of pleasure when my fingers skimmed the coarse hair above his member. Henry’s deft fingers skimmed my stomach and trailed under my bra. My nipples tingled, and I gasped. My clothes quickly followed his, falling to the floor in a pile.

  He took my nipple into his mouth and sucked. My back arched off the bed. I had always been self-conscious of my small breasts, but Henry’s reverent touch made me feel perfect. Wanted. Whole. My vision relaxed, and the embers of our lust was a thick red haze in the air. Everything was more intense. I could smell the scent of his skin. His hair. My own arousal as well as his.

  Henry’s eager fingers dipped between my thighs as I grasped him in my palm. He hissed a breath through his teeth, and my head rolled back until it hit the pillow.

  “I want you, right now.” I breathed, my chest heaving from the overload of pleasure.

  Henry smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye. He pulled away from my mouth and began to trail kisses down my stomach, pausing at the small floral tattoo on my hipbone. The faded green-black ink of my sister’s name.

  Henry hooked my legs over his shoulders and feasted.

  That was the only way I could describe the amorous movements of his mouth. It was as if he was devouring me. His warm and wet tongue circled my clit, teasing and coaxing pleasure from my body. His fingers teased me with their proximity, as they gripped my upper thigh. Their presence was a promise, but his hands never moved as Henry trailed kisses on my cleft.

  My eyes rolled back into my head as Henry tongued me. Sparks. The beginnings of an orgasm teased my conscious.

  “Please,” I rasped. My voice was husky with lust. I had no idea what I was begging for, but Henry knew my body better than I did.

  His hands widened my legs and spread me open. Exposed. I fisted my hair, overcome by the pleasure building inside of me, the beast under my skin caused my toes to curl and my mouth to go dry.

  Henry broke away and crawled up my body like a lazy feline; a slow smirk on his face. I felt the absence of his mouth with all the emotions associated with grief.

  I hovered on the edge of an orgasm. He kissed me, deeply, and I tasted myself on his lips.

  With one swift movement, he plunged inside of me. To the hilt. I had never felt so full in all my life. I felt his member hit my womb and the sweet ache inside made me gasp.

  I rocked my pelvis; I was willing to do anything to gain the friction I needed. Henry pulled out slowly and then sheathed himself inside of me again in one swift movement. I felt my walls spasm and clench.

  My fingers gripped his bicep, hard enough to leave fingerprint sized bruises.

  I pushed his wild hair from his forehead. My eyes met his. They were clear as a pool of water, with a daemonic shine. A low groan started in his throat; his orgasm was close.

  The thought of him inside of me, filling me, caused me to rock my hips faster.

  I looked between us,
at where we joined. The sight took me hostage and held me like an electric fence. My body twitched and went into spasm. Clenched and released.

  Henry plunged inside of me one last time. His orgasm joined with mine, and I was bathed in pure energy. That was what I needed to feel whole. Our pleasure fed my mind, body and soul.

  As aftershocks rolled through my system and we both came down from the high, Henry held me closer. His lips brushed my forehead.

  “I will never leave you again.” He whispered.

  By the afternoon, Trix had grown even weaker. William had supplied her with daemon blood, but the vomiting continued. Her nose continued to bleed. The bags under her eyes were more pronounced and darker than they had ever before.

  I had only caught a glimpse of her when I had gone to her room to see if she was okay, but William had shut the door in my face, citing that she needed to be alone.

  Henry and I had found Damian in the rose garden outside. He was meditating, with his legs crossed and eyes closed.

  “We need to do something about the Witchlings,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

  Damian did not bother to open his eyes as he spoke. “I said, no retaliation.”

  “Something needs to be done.” Henry implored.

  “Why start a war if you don’t intend to fight it?” I hissed.

  “I have something they want,” Damian murmured, the sun shone on his pale face, and I could see the blue veins under his translucent skin.

  “Trix?” I whispered in horror. “You still plan to draw them here?”

  “I’ve been playing this game much longer than you have, Ms Taylor.” Damian’s tone was menacing, but his face was at peace as he meditated.

  “But not for as long as I have, brother,” Henry said in a low, threatening tone. “Beatrix Klein is not a bargaining tool.”

  “She is whatever I tell her to be,” Damian said. “I am the one that offered her protection from the Witchlings. It is up to me if I choose to use her in whatever way that I see fit.”

  “You can’t.” I pleaded.

  Damian’s hand was around my neck before I could finish my breath. My eyes bulged, and he snarled. Damian’s eyes were dark and soulless. His easy going All-American looks had melted away to something harsh and demonic. Every pane of his appearance was calculated.

  “They fired the first shots, Sophia.” Damian’s voice was emotionless. Any humanity was gone. “I have simply informed Katya Klein that I intend to help her sister become a daemon, in light of the Coven's actions at the London Marathon.”

  Was it an empty threat or a promise? I wondered.

  Damian's fingers left my throat suddenly and without warning. I felt the absence of Damian's grip as Henry ripped me out of the Pureblood’s grip.

  The heavy crunch of stone made me jolt in surprise. Henry stood in front of me, an avenging angel. His hair caught the light, and his shoulders moved as he panted in anger. Henry had flung Damian to the other side of the rose garden, and Damian’s body had slammed into a bench made of stone. Damian’s gaze was ruthless. The air threatened to ignite with the threat of violence.

  As sparks of power flittered over Damian’s skin, the smell of Witchling Magic filled my nostrils.

  Every door to the Cross Estate slammed shut and locked with a click.

  Sealed by Magic.

  “They’re here,” I breathed, awe and fear filled my veins.

  “They’ve locked us out.” Henry snarled. “Was that part of your plan, Damian?”

  The scent of burning plastic gathered at the back of my throat as I rushed to the French doors of the Cross Estate. The glass had turned black, stained and opaque. I could not see through, even with my enhanced demonic vision. Clasping the brass handle, I tugged until I felt the metal give way under my new strength like silly putty. Henry slammed his palms against the blackened windows.

  Blackened veins. Corruption. Death.

  The threat to Trix’s life made my throat swell. Fear and shame battled each other in my body as I frantically sought a way into the house.

  Damian brushed the cement dust from his yoga pants and strode to the house with all the confidence in the world. It wasn’t until he couldn’t open the doors as well that I saw a fissure in his mask.

  “Cross Estate is warded!” Damian shouted. “How dare they attack my home!”

  They wanted Trix and I couldn’t let them have her. She was my last connection to humanity. I clawed at the faded white paint of the patio doors until my nails split and my fingers began to bleed. I did not cry out with pain. The ache was dull compared to the heartbreak inside of my chest.

  Henry fought just as hard as I did. Slamming his shoulder into the door, over and over. The frame didn’t move an inch, wedged into place with magic. I screamed Beatrix’s name until my throat was hoarse.

  It wasn’t until the quiet click of the windows rattled one by one, that Cross Estate unfurled the Witchling magic like an opening fist. A dandelion letting its seeds fly away on the breeze.

  My feet had moved before I was conscious of it. Surging through the expansive mansion with a mission and fevered desperation.

  I ran to Trix’s room first. Expecting destruction. Awaiting a sign of some sort, evidence of the Witchling’s invasion.

  There was nothing.

  I knocked on Trix’s door, and it swung open wide. I had never been happier to see the sharp onyx eyes of William Kain and his arrogant as hell smirk.

  I looked around his imposing frame, and still asleep in bed, behind him, was my best friend. Trix was unconscious, steadily leaking blood from her ears. But she was alive.

  The tension in my chest unknotted slowly.

  “What do you want?” William Kain crossed his tattooed arms over his chest; my eyes caught on the red and black Chinese dragon.

  “She’s okay?” I whispered, breathless.

  “No changes.” He said, his eyes were tender as he looked at her. I nodded and made my way back to Henry and Damian. I found them both searching the rooms of the mansion like bloodhounds.

  “She didn’t take Trix,” I told them, confused.

  “Are you certain?” Damian crooked his eyebrow.

  Henry shot him a filthy look. His anger was a glint in his eye as the rest of his face bore no expression. “If the Witchlings did not want Beatrix Klein, what did they want?”

  Anna, Damian’s personal lackey, appeared in a wisp of smoke. Her eyes were wide with fear, and she was covered in blood. Before she dropped to the floor, as she clasped her hand to her chest, I saw that she was missing three fingers.

  Anna hissed in pain. “They took Lillian Blaire.”

  19.

  Anna shook her mangled hand as if she could will the pain away. It didn’t seem to be working. The blood flow had stopped, but her hand was missing three fingers. Jagged wounds decorated the tips of her knuckles.

  “One of those Witches bit me!” Anna snarled. Her hair was covered in white ash, but she didn’t seem to care. Cradling her hand like a screaming infant, Anna snapped and swore.

  “Will those grow back?” I asked Henry, tilting my chin in her direction.

  Henry nodded as we watched Anna Cross pitch a fit in the entranceway. “They’re going to remove the stake from Lillian’s brain. They’re going to bring her back.” He whispered.

  I wrapped my fingers around his and clasped tightly. I had no words. My heart froze in my chest and became a useless hunk of cold meat. My insides wared between the need to distance and protect myself and the need to hold Henry and protect him.

  “She’s going to take you back?” I croaked. My voice was rough but quiet.

  Henry’s face grew hard. His eyes were so full of malice that they could have cut glass. “I would sooner die than be inside of Lillian Blaire again.”

  “I would prefer that she died.” I stretched my arms above my head, trying to act casually even though my heart was breaking. “How can I kill her?”

  “Remove the head,” Damian said,
placing his hand on Henry’s shoulder. “What do you want from me, brother?”

  Henry scoffed, “Now you offer me aid? After all that you have done?”

  Without a word, Henry took my hand and led me away from the house. We walked up the broad path in front of the estate, but his phone began to chime. Demanding his attention. The chirping noises of every phone in the vicinity drew my attention.

  Henry reached into his pocket and dug out the small device. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as his brow furrowed at the information on the screen.

  “Bring her to the office, or I will wake Lillian.” The text message read.

  With my daemonic hearing, I listened to the muttered confusion of every person in the nearby radius. It seemed that everyone had received the same message.

  “Why didn’t Katya just take Trix?” I asked, as Henry shook his head and swore. “It all makes sense now. Come on.” And he led me back inside.

  Rousing Beatrix from her bed was almost impossible, so we left her to sleep. Even with the daemon blood in her system, her health had deteriorated. Damian, Henry and William gathered in the Games room. William sat on the edge of the Snooker table; his feet swung over the end of the table like a child. Damian lounged in a winged armchair, with his legs spread wide in invitation. Henry stood with his arms folded in the corner, apart from the other two.

  “What does this mean?” I brandished Henry’s phone in Damian’s face. His natural smirk dissolved when he saw the message.

  “Do you think this is revenge for threatening to turn Trix into a daemon?” William’s voice interrupted whatever Damian was going to say. I turned to the raven-haired daemon and saw that his typically cocky and mischievous expression had morphed into something menacing. William Kain nodded towards Damian.

  “Yes, I knew about that, Damian Cross.” William Kain folded his tattooed arms over his chest. He was the tallest of all three men, and while I had never thought of him as anything other than a non-threatening pervert before... My image of him had shifted.